I admit, I haven't been writing a very nice Woody because I am very frustrated with the character right now. The writers are making no sense…and I feel may have botched a wonderful opportunity for the Woodster to grow and mature.

Instead, we get…..Woody and Lu? Ick.

Chapter Four

Shaken, not Stirred

Jordan sighed as she struggled to open the door to yet another no-name hotel in yet another small town and go inside. The only consistent job she had been allowed to work while on the run was bartending. Haley wasn't letting her anywhere near a morgue…and bartending was the only other work experience she had.

And it was a bitch sometimes. She felt like she was part public relations for the bar when she dealt with cranky customers and part psychologist when she dealt with the crying drunks.

Jordan had earned a whole new respect for Howard Stiles.

She slammed the door and flung her pocketbook on the bed and then herself. This was only supposed to take a few months, she thought to herself, shutting her eye. Just a few damn months for Haley to wrap up loose ends and feed the information to Woody…and then I was supposed to go home.

Instead the case had stalled. Leads hadn't panned out. Woody was deeply involved in another case. It had now been nearly a year since she had left Boston. She rolled over and shut her eyes against the early morning sun streaming through the narrow crack between the curtains.

A year. Almost. For a year she had spent her nights for the most part, bartending and her days sleeping. It was going to take months just to get her internal clock back on track when she was able to return to the morgue and go back to work.

It might take longer for her stop looking over her shoulder all the time to see if she was being followed…either by the same people that had killed Pollack or by the police. At first, that sensation of being watched followed her everywhere. After a month or two, Jordan had learned that her reality was really like Haley had told her…you just think you're being watched, but most likely you're not. It's just the thought of being watched that wears you down.

Drew had been right. She no longer kept a vigilant watch over her shoulder at who might or might not be following her, but she did stay alert.

And it did wear her down. The stress lines around her mouth and eyes were more prominent now than they had been a year ago. She had trouble sleeping and didn't eat like she should.

She simply lived for the day she could return to her Pearle Street apartment, turn on the hot water, and take a long shower – washing the reality of her situation off of her. The constant relocating…the stress…the constant need to stay vigilant. Then she wanted to sleep undisturbed for a week.

Smiling wryly at the difference between her fantasy and the veracity of her situation, Jordan sat up on her bed, flung her blonde wig off and made for the shower in her tiny hotel room. She could dream later. Right now this was her reality and like Drew said, she would have to do whatever it took to keep Pollack's case alive. And if becoming a fugitive was what she had to do, she had no choice.

Even if her reality really, truly sucked right now and all she wanted to do was go home.

Woody couldn't believe what he was hearing as he listened to Haley.

Once again Haley had called him. "Meet me at the diner." Woody had learned long ago not to ask "why" or "where." Drew never called him unless he had vital information about Pollack's case. And the "where" was always the same. The all-night diner near the BoSox stadium.

"So what you're saying is…" Woody said, making sure he had heard Haley correctly.

"I'm afraid so, detective."

Woody let out a low whistle. "And they call baseball one of the great American pastimes."

Haley grinned wryly. "Yeah. Ain't it a bitch?"

Woody nodded. "So let me make sure I understand correctly. International gambling debts with the Japanese over baseball games?"

Haley nodded. "Games were thrown. And it seemed everybody that's somebody in baseball and New England politics was in on it. Including some players."

"And Pollack got to sniffing to close to the case…" Woody continued

"Then Jordan ruled the baseball player's wife's death a homicide instead of a suicide."

"Which they weren't expecting. But once they were able to link Jordan and Pollack together…"

"They killed two birds with one stone. Poor bastard," Drew finished, referring to Pollack. "Not to mention what it's done to Jordan."

Woody's head snapped to attention. This was the first time Haley had mentioned Jordan to Woody on such an insinuated personal level. Other than detailing his and Jordan's history, Drew had not volunteered any information about their present relationship. Woody had accurately drawn the conclusion that Haley wasn't with Jordan all the time, but did check in on her regularly…moving her when needed. Allowing her to work to keep herself sane.

Woody didn't want to think about what else Drew may have done to keep her comfortable during the year she had been on the run. "What has it done to Jordan?" he asked. "Is she okay? Is anything wrong?"

Drew shrugged. "She's been on the run for a whole year, Hoyt. That's not easy on anyone, but I think it's especially hard on someone like Jordan who just desperately wants her life to return to normal."

"But she's okay?"

The profiler's eyes narrowed. "She's lost some weight and some sleep…" and then Drew stopped. He didn't know how to explain to Woody what being a fugitive did to someone. The underlying tenseness that seeps its way into your soul. The constant feeling that you're being watched. The uprooting and moving on, often in the dead of night and always into a town you've never been at before and with people you've never met, and not knowing who you could trust.

He couldn't explain it to Woody because Drew seriously doubted if the all-American-Boy-Scout-Turned-Detective could even distantly commiserate with Jordan. Jordan had told Drew that Woody was the only person she could trust because Woody would always do the right thing, regardless of how he felt or the circumstances. And Drew had seen enough of the Dudley Doright in the detective to vouch for that.

But as far as the man's empathetic skills went… Drew wasn't so sure about those. So for the present the FBI profiler was content to only reveal the facts of the Pollack case to Woody, and very, very few details about Jordan. When Jordan returned, she was going to need time, support, concern, and care to get her life back to normal. Right now, the woman was wound as tightly as a spring and Drew was nearly scared to think about what would happen when Jordan was finally allowed to uncoil. "But other than that physically she is fine," Drew concluded, getting up and throwing a few bills on the table to cover his coffee.

"Does she know how close we are to solving this case?" Woody asked.

Drew hesitated. "Solving…I'm not so sure about, Detective. But I would say I have given you enough to go on to, at the very least, get Jordan off the hook for Pollack's murder."

"Does she know that?" Woody asked again.

Drew shook his head. "No. I don't want to get her hopes up and then have to disappoint her. She's going through enough as it is. When you can at least get your DA to call the dogs off on Jordan and get her out of from under that damned 'umbrella of suspicion', I'll let her know and bring her home."

Woody nodded and stood. "Give me a few days…."

In the end it had been nearly too damned simple. A hint or two to Nigel and then the criminalist went to work with all of his legal and illegal computer gimmicks. A few clicks of the mouse and the pressure was off Jordan and onto a foreign contact.

That and the fact that an unknown fingerprint had been raised at Jordan's apartment. Toss in a few hairs from the crime scene that Bug had linked to someone of Asian heritage and add motive. Shake, but don't stir. And Woody found he had poured himself one hell of a martini. One that put the pressure on the Japanese consulate in Boston and made Jordan look like a candidate for sainthood. Walcott called off the search for Jordan, saying the ME was no longer a suspect. After toasting himself one more time with a stale cup of coffee to keep himself awake while he wrapped up the loose ends of the case, Woody dialed Haley's number, thinking to himself it was poetic justice that it was after one in the morning and for once he was waking the profiler up, and not the other way around.

The bottom dropped out of his stomach when Woody wondered what he would do if Jordan answered the call….

"Haley," a clear voice said. Damn…he wasn't asleep…

"It's Hoyt. I tied the case up in a pretty bow for Walcott. She just took Jordan out of the umbrella of suspicion. Bring her home."